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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741620">The Jock and the Junkie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypoet/pseuds/sleepypoet'>sleepypoet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Paul and Mick Are Boyfriends! [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Slipknot (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Awkwardness, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, but not really bc mick doesn't know how romance works</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypoet/pseuds/sleepypoet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the type of guy that only cheerleaders are into, but Mick really isn’t interested in cheerleaders. Mick’s interested in only one type of person, and that happens to be the stoner bassist with the lip piercings, the one with the pretty eyes and the goofy smile.</p><p> </p><p>Aka the origin of these two dumbasses</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paul Gray/Mick Thomson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Paul and Mick Are Boyfriends! [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Jock and the Junkie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First fic of 2021!!! </p><p>No one asked for awkward high school fluff but that's what my brain told me to write so you're just gonna have to live with that</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Hey, I saw you in the sidelines at my game last night.</em>
</p><p>No.</p><p>
  <em>Saw you cheering us on last night, that was pretty cool.</em>
</p><p>Hell no.</p><p>
  <em>You don’t know me, but I know you.</em>
</p><p>No, that's just weird.</p><p> </p><p>Mick crumples and tears each note up, frustrated at himself for not being able to come up with anything half decent. He can’t understand how the hell other people are capable of acting so romantic and sappy. Mick can’t stand all that mushy shit. He’s been sitting here for at least 15 minutes, trying to figure out how exactly to write a “love letter” without sounding either desperate or straight up creepy. Maybe a more direct approach would do the job better?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’re hot, wanna hang out?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>No. No, definitely not. Mick bounces his leg impatiently, just barely resisting the urge to get up and storm out of the library. He has to stay. He has to do this. He told himself he would, after weeks and weeks of procrastinating on it. Today is the day he makes his first move.</p><p>Reluctantly, he tears out another piece of notebook paper. His failed attempts lay scattered pitifully across the table, torn and ripped to shreds. And Mick knows he shouldn’t let himself get angry over something so silly, like writing a note to his crush. But he still does. Because it’s hard, and he doesn’t know how to put feelings into words. Writing has never been his forte, but honestly neither has math, or science, or history. Or anything else. That’s why he’s on the football team. He’s a big guy, and that’s about all he really has going for him.</p><p>The thought brings doubt to his mind. How could Paul ever want to date a guy like Mick? Paul’s talented, Paul's smart. He plays in a band, he’s cool, and he’s certainly not interested in some football player who has only half a brain. Mick is the guy that everyone’s too scared to pick on, the guy who’s failing most of his academic classes (but passing his physical education with flying colors), who only ever shows his emotions on the practice field, when he’s tackling bodies like they’re lighter than fucking feathers. He’s the type of guy that only cheerleaders are into, but Mick really isn’t interested in cheerleaders. Mick’s interested in only one type of person, and that happens to be the stoner bassist with the lip piercings, the one with the pretty eyes and the goofy smile.</p><p>A lot of girls like Paul. But Paul’s never been seen dating one. Mick has noticed how he’ll politely brush them off, giving himself an air of mystery that most likely isn’t intentional. But the chicks definitely seem to dig it. Mick digs it. </p><p>The pencil in his hand lays stationary, Mick still stumped on how to word his confession. And just as he considers leaving, giving up and driving himself home, one of his teammates spots him from afar. He waves at Mick and enters the library, casually jogging up to the teen. His eyes quizzically glance around Mick’s work space, catching the torn papers and frustration burning in the teen’s eyes. Mick glances up at him and notices the amused look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m uh… I’m tryna write something to someone. I dunno how to word it. It’s getting on my nerves, like <em>seriously</em>, how the hell and I supposed to get all the stuff in my head onto paper-”</p><p>Before he’s able to finish his sentence, his buddy is leaning over his shoulder, pushing Mick out of the way to write something on the blank sheet. </p><p>Mick huffs impatiently. “Craig, hey, I appreciate it, but I really don’t think you’re any better than I am when it comes to expressing yourself. You don't even know what this is about, man, I don't think you can help me.”</p><p>Craig ignores the comment and pulls back, allowing Mick to see what he wrote. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Meet me on the practice field during lunch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Mick</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mick blinks. He reads the words again. And again. And then one more time. It’s… not quite the approach he had initially wanted to take, but it certainly works. Just meet up with him in person and say how he feels to his face. That can work. Craig must have noticed the realization in Mick’s eyes, because he gives him a reassuring pat on the back and walks away without another word, as if he had just solved all of Mick’s problems in less than a minute. Because, well, he kinda did.</p><p>And Mick’s just dumbfounded. Because somehow he hadn’t managed to think of something that simple, and he'd been sitting there for a while. Mick has always been a more upfront type of guy anyway, so maybe just meeting Paul in person would be the best route to take, rather than writing some stupid drawn out love letter.</p><p>So he packs his bag up and slings it over his shoulder, throwing away the scraps of paper as he exits the library. With the note still in his hand, he makes his way across campus to find Paul’s locker.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mick is nervous. He doesn’t like being nervous, because it makes him feel weak. His heart has been hammering since the moment he woke up this morning, and he could only barely pay attention to his practice drills. Coach was definitely not happy with him.</p><p>And now he’s sitting in history class, desperately trying not to look at the boy sitting two rows in front of him. Which is difficult because the whiteboard is right there, and Paul’s head is clearly in sight, and it's fucking distracting him. He’s so pretty when he’s focused, he’s so smart and laid back all the time and just <em>cool</em> and now Mick’s nerves are doubling down because class ends in less than 10 minutes. And after this period it’s lunch, and maybe suddenly now Mick isn’t as prepared as he thought he had been. </p><p>And then someone’s calling his name. Interrupting his train of thought. It’s the teacher. Everyone turns to look at Mick, some kids smiling because he was caught off guard and apparently that's funny, others not all that interested in what’s going on, but still looking because all the other kids are. Fucking sheeple. </p><p>Mick doesn’t know what the teacher wants. She looks expectant. </p><p><em>What even was the question?</em> The teacher grows impatient. It's not his fault she decided to call on the one person who obviously had not been paying attention.</p><p>The guy sitting to the left of him leans in and whispers something. And it’s a question that Mick doesn’t know the answer to because how the hell is he supposed to know what happened back in 1875? He doesn’t care, and he definitely wasn’t listening to the lecture. And as much as he wishes his eyes would just <em>not</em> do the worst things at the worst times, they find themselves drifting to where Paul is sitting. They make eye contact and Mick can physically feel his heart explode right then and there. Paul gives him a small pity smile.</p><p>And in that moment Mick really wants to die but instead he just looks at the teacher and mumbles a “Sorry, wasn’t paying attention.” And the rest of the class turns to look back at their teacher, because that answer was most definitely not what she had wanted to hear. But instead of chewing him out for once, she just sighs and calls on someone else. Mick is thankful for that. And now the attention is on some other student, but Mick can’t help but sense the lingering gaze that didn't quite leave his direction. He finds a pair of curious brown eyes on him from two rows away. Mick averts his gaze and pretends to not notice.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as the bell rings, Mick shuts himself in the closest bathroom to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed he’d been breaking out in a cold sweat until he looks himself in the mirror, forehead shiny from the precipitation. Yikes. Gross. He runs a faucet and splashes his face with the cold water. Puts on his best tough guy attitude. No big deal, it’s just asking someone out. What’s the worst that could happen? Paul says no? So what?</p><p>It doesn’t help much. He really doesn’t want Paul to say no. Not only would it hurt his pride, but he’d obviously be heartbroken, and that is not ideal.</p><p>It’s cool. It’s all good.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I got this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I think.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Right now Paul should be at his locker, getting stuff for his next class after lunch. And he’s going to see Mick’s note for the first time. The note that Mick had slipped in there yesterday, after school. And he doesn’t want to keep Paul waiting, so he heads towards the field, trying desperately to keep his cool.</p><p> </p><p>He spots Paul in the distance, leaning up against the railing. Note in his hand. Mick almost considers turning back around and ditching the entire idea, but he can’t. He’s gone too far to go back now. Puffing out his chest, he strides over to the shorter teen. Paul turns to look at him, flashing a friendly smile.</p><p>“Hey man, I got your note. What’s up?”</p><p>The world around Mick seems to fade into obscurity, voices of students falling into the background, everything zeroing in on Paul the moment their eyes meet. He hadn't been anticipating this to be so intense. Mick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck, shit, say something dumbass--</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh- um. So. I actually needed to tell, or, ask you something.”</p><p>Paul’s expression is unreadable. But he’s not frowning. So that’s a good sign, Mick thinks. He gulps, hoping to god he’s able to speak his next sentence without sounding completely incoherent. </p><p>“I was just wondering… if you maybe wanted to like, I dunno. Hang out sometime? We could play some music, I know you’re into bass, I can play the guitar, or like-- we could go see a movie?”</p><p>Mick awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, unsure of what to do with his arms. Paul’s eyes slowly widen in somewhat of a realization, and a red flush quickly spreads across his face.</p><p>“Oh, wait, holy shit, are you asking me out?”</p><p>Mick’s stomach churns with anxiety. “I mean, yeah?” </p><p>It comes out as more of a question, but Paul seems to understand the situation pretty well. For a moment he’s silent, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He seems reluctant.</p><p>“... why?”</p><p>That… wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for. Who the hell asks <em>why</em> when someone wants to date them, anyway? Mick’s brows furrow in confusion and fear of rejection.</p><p>Noticing his reaction, Paul quickly corrects himself. “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that at all. I’m just, like, surprised that you’d wanna ask <em>me</em> of all people to go out with you. I mean, I’m just some random guy, and you’re like, the head of our football team. Everyone knows you.”</p><p>Mick mentally sighs in relief. “Oh,” he comments, feeling his ego swell a bit. “I’m not that special, really. And… you seem like a cool dude that I’d like to get to know. I’ve heard you play live before, you’re honestly incredible.”</p><p>Paul suddenly turns shy, glancing down to the ground in an attempt to cover his blush. “Hah, thanks.”</p><p>The air is tense, neither of the two sure how to carry on from here. Mick notices the note still clutched in Paul’s hand, and an idea pops into mind. He pulls a pen out of his backpack’s pocket and snatches the paper, scribbling down something quickly. Paul raises an eyebrow at the sudden movement. Once Mick's finished he hands it back to him, and the bassist breaks out in a grin.</p><p>“Is that your number?”</p><p>Mick nods. “Yeah. Call me, alright? Um, or text me, if you’d rather do that.”</p><p>Paul laughs. “Got it. I’ll call you.”</p><p>A few people call Paul over, one of them being a short kid with black hair, another being a larger looking student with light blue eyes. “Oh, sorry, those are just my friends. Joey and Shawn. You’ll have to meet them sometime, I’m sure you guys’ll get along.”</p><p>Mick looks back at the pair who are now frantically waving him over, drumsticks in their hands. Paul sighs. “I gotta go, it’s time for the band to practice. I’ll see you around!”</p><p>He then leans up on his tippy toes to plant a kiss on Mick’s cheek before running off to join his friends, leaving Mick standing there, bewildered and flustered. He brings a hand up to touch the spot where Paul had kissed him, stunned, head spinning, attempting to process the series of events that had just taken place. And Paul looks back and throws him a wink, which actually literally kills Mick, or at least it feels like it did. </p><p> </p><p>Writing that letter had clearly been the best decision he'd made all year.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tumblr: <a href="https://sleepy-poet.tumblr.com">sleepy-poet</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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